Chasing Death Metal Dreams (18 page)

Nate winced. “I was the one who tore them up.”

“I ripped them with words first, I guess.”

“That’s… almost poetic.”

“Well, duh. Songwriter.”

Nate’s heart was beating strangely fast, and he couldn’t quite get his breath.
Fight or flight.
Which was odd, because neither of those seemed like a good plan. “You came back. I wasn’t sure you would.”

“Neither was I.” Carlos sighed audibly. “Could you come down? I’m getting a crick in my neck.”

“Maybe.”

“What? I need a magic word?
Pleeeeease?
” There was sarcasm in his tone, but his eyes were fixed on Nate’s.

Nate snorted. “Not that I mind hearing you say that, but more like, I’m so stiff I’m not sure if I can
come
down, or I’m gonna
fall
down.”

Carlos moved right under him. “I’ll catch you.”

“I’ll squish you.”

“I’m stronger than I look.”

“Well, just remember you said that.” Nate swung carefully off his branch, setting his feet on the lower one, and eased down, fumbling for the next level. He slipped as he got six feet off the ground, the stumble half real, half intentional as he slid and grabbed. True to his word, Carlos caught him and steadied him until he could stand on his own. Nate closed his hands on Carlos’s arms for a moment, gripping the strong biceps with his fingers, then let go. “Thanks.”

“Mm.”

“So.” They stood there in the shelter of the tree, looking at each other. Nate figured Carlos couldn’t see much more than he could, just a shape, a male body, a hint of uncombed hair, a glint of eyes. It was hard to know where to begin. “Do you want to, um, talk?”

Carlos’s voice was low with only a hint of self-mockery. “I’d rather, um, fuck.”

“No doubt. Me too.” Nate was going to say something about it being a bad idea without talking first, but having Carlos that close was scrambling his brains, and he’d done too much thinking already. “Bed?”

“Better than out here on the fucking lawn, yeah.”

Nate led the way, intensely aware of Carlos following him. The white box was sitting beside his door at the top of the stairs, and he joked, “That won’t explode on me, will it?”

“Not unless they’re a lot older than I thought.”

He climbed the last step, bent and looked at it. “Donuts? Like, a shitload of them?”

“A dozen. Six for you, six for me.”

“Damn.” Nate picked them up. “I’ll have to run ten miles tomorrow.”

“Twenty for me.” Carlos stood close as Nate fumbled with the key. “Do you actually run?”

“Sometimes.” It’d been a while, but seeing his legs stretched out on a bed next to Carlos’s muscular ones the other night had made him feel sloth-like. “I should do it more often.”

“I run every day.” Carlos followed him in and shut the door.

Nate reached past him and latched it.
You’re staying.
His dick was getting hard, optimistic as ever, although he wasn’t sure how this would go. He emptied his pockets in the dish on his counter.

Carlos stood close enough that Nate could tell he was breathing faster, but without reaching to touch him. “I run and do cardio, lots of weights. I need it, not just for the muscle but it, um, centers me. I get really twitchy on a day I can’t run.”

“Maybe I can suggest alternate cardio.”

Carlos pushed up against him then, face in his hair and one hand already diving for Nate’s zipper. It was darker than ever with the door shut. Nate reached toward the light switch, but Carlos grabbed his wrist. “No. Wait.”

Nate shuddered as Carlos pressed him back against the kitchen counter, kissing and biting at his neck and jaw. Carlos’s teeth and tongue stung and cooled him in turns, and he moaned and tilted his head for more, unable to resist, certain there would be marks and not caring. Carlos reached down and tugged Nate’s jeans open, pushed them low with rough hands, then dropped to his knees. He pinned Nate’s hips, hard fingers biting in against skin and bone, while his lips fumbled in the dark and then sucked Nate deep.

Nate groaned and grabbed his head, tugging on the coarse hair, but Carlos resisted, swallowing him harder.

“Hang on.” Nate could hardly believe he’d managed to say that.

The deep grunt was surely a
no
because Carlos tongued him harder, plunging up and down Nate’s shaft, sucking, his throat rippling, with a drag of teeth under the head. The edge of the countertop dug into Nate’s spine and the handle of the cabinet poked his ass, and he was already on the edge of coming.

“Carlos!” He yanked Carlos’s head back.

“What?” Carlos’s voice was rough.

“I want…” His brain cells were fried with needing to come, and he couldn’t think.

“Would you fuck me?” There was a dark tone to the words that thrummed across Nate’s nerves, making him even harder.

“Um. Sure!”

“Right now, right here? I haven’t prepped. It might not be clean and pretty.”

“Do you want it? Can you take me?”

“Fuck, yeah.”

“Condom?”

“Got one.”

He pulled on Carlos’s hair again, and this time Carlos surged to his feet, leaning in, kissing Nate’s throat and then his mouth. Nate could taste his own precum and sweat. He bit at Carlos’s lips, and their noses clashed. Nate pressed his face in against the rough stubble of Carlos’s neck and moaned. “Gonna be a short fuck.”

“I don’t care.” Carlos fumbled with his own jeans, digging in his pocket, foil tore, then he reached down and grabbed Nate’s dick, rolling the condom onto it.

“Lube?” Nate tried to remember what was close to hand. “Lotion?”

“That shit stings. The condom’s lubed. Use spit.”

“I don’t want—”

“Don’t wimp out on me.” Nate could just make out the way Carlos spat onto his own fingers, then reached behind himself. The shape of his body as he worked himself open made Nate shudder and grab for him.

Carlos’s full weight leaned onto Nate, pinning him against the hard countertop. Nate was rubbed by the motions as Carlos pushed forward against him and then arched back onto his own fingers. Carlos pulled his fingers out, spat again, reached around and grunted. Nate could feel the muscles of his arm working. He bit Carlos’s throat roughly, any concern about marks forgotten, and Carlos moaned and humped him. Nate’s dick was hard and ready, sliding and catching against the bunched fabric of Carlos’s boxers. Nate worked a hand between them and pushed both their clothes lower, brushing against himself, his touch nowhere near enough. There was a line of jockstrap under his fingers and he snapped it against Carlos’s hip, making him jump.

Carlos broke away from him, shuffled a step sideways, and turned to brace on the cabinets, ass out, an arm on the counter, his clean hand sliding under himself in front. “Do it. Now!”

Nate stepped behind him, grabbing the hard round cheeks of that ass framed by those taut straps, and spread them. He slid his fingers down the fuzzy cleft, touching, orienting himself, worried for a moment that Carlos was still too dry.

“Fucking spit and go.” Carlos bucked hard, slamming his ass against Nate’s bobbing cock near-painfully.

Well, hell.
Nate did as he was told, adding more spit on the condom and then pressing forward carefully.
So tight, so hot.
He gripped the base of his cock, breathed in through clenched teeth, and went slow.

“More!” Carlos’s muscular back flexed and arched under him, trying to drive their motions.

Nate put a hand on Carlos’s shoulders, pushing him further down. “Screw that. I won’t hurt you.”

“Hurts so good. Please.” Carlos flexed, a fast pump of hips that opened him, pushing Nate in deep.

Nate gasped and put more weight on his hand, trying to hold Carlos still. “God, wait, gonna come.”

“Not yet, not yet. Don’t move then.”

Nate stopped, impossibly deep inside Carlos. He could feel Carlos’s arm flexing down low, moving, working himself. Carlos’s breathing sped up, hoarse pants that shook them both. Carlos’s ass was perfect heat and pressure around Nate, the tiny movements as he clenched and shivered squeezing Nate’s dick until holding back became pain and darkness, unbearable pressure driving him to the edge. “Got to come!” he managed through gritted teeth.

“Wait, wait… Yeah! Now, now, now! Jesus!” Carlos suddenly jolted against him, hips pumping in fast short rhythm. “Fuck me!”

Nate grabbed his hips and did, letting loose, slamming harder than he ever had, or meant to, each thrust tearing a shout from his throat. Carlos didn’t stop him, didn’t protest, in fact met him back. They crashed together, fast and furious, too tight, too hard, sticky, sweaty, in the dark. Nate shouted as he came, digging his fingers into Carlos’s hips to keep from falling. His knees shook, his whole body trembled. White flashes arced across his vision and his blood roared in his ears.

“Oh, God.” He had to fall forward, draped over Carlos’s damp back, gasping. “Sorry. Oh, man.”

Carlos reached back and wrapped an arm across Nate’s back, holding him there. “Not sorry. Perfect.”

For a few moments, they leaned that way, plastered together, both breathing raggedly and shaking, causing little tremors that set each other off again. Then Carlos eased his arm off Nate’s back and said, “The counter’s giving me a hernia.”

Nate managed half a breathless laugh and reached down, easing out with care, the condom sticking and stubborn. He slipped out at last, and Carlos whined. Nate reached down to rub that abused asshole. “Sore?”

“A bit. It’s good.”

“You’re okay?”

“I never came that hard. Not ever.” Carlos eased sideways and turned.

Nate needed to see him. He fumbled under the counter and flicked on the light. They eyed each other. Carlos stood with his chin up, clothes around his knees, his hips turned just enough to make his groin a dark mystery behind one muscular thigh. He was flushed and rumpled, the long hair on the top of his head a wild tangle. His eyes shone, there was a rising bruise on his neck, and his mouth was open, a glisten of saliva marking his lip and chin. Nate desperately wanted to paint him like that. Instead he took two steps to the sink, tossed the condom in the trash below, and soaked some paper towels. “Here.” He handed a couple to Carlos.

They both wiped up, and then Carlos came over, jostling his shoulder, to wash his hands. Nate stuck his fingers beside Carlos’s in the flow of warm water, pushing at him gently, watching the colors as pale fingers and toffee-colored ones brushed each other in the satin slide of the liquid. He looked back up to find Carlos’s eyes fixed on him. “What?”

Carlos raised a wet hand, took hold of Nate’s chin, and leaned in very slowly. Nate watched him come, closing his eyes at the last moment and parting his lips. Carlos kissed him, firmly and thoroughly but gently. Nate sighed and leaned against his shoulder, turning his face into the crick of Carlos’s neck when he broke the kiss. “Bed?”

Carlos said, “Donuts?”

Nate’s laugh broke free, a stupid chortle that made Carlos push him off with a matching grin. “Sure. I have to sit though.”

“I might stand.”

Nate’s amusement ebbed. “Was it too rough?”

“You gave me exactly what I asked for. Don’t worry.” Carlos tugged his underwear and jeans up, leaving the zipper unfastened, then bent and picked up the box that had somehow ended up on the floor. “Well, squished donuts.”

“Not a problem for me,” Nate said. He suddenly craved a sugar-and-fats hit. “Share ’em out.”

Carlos went to the little table and set the box down, popping the tape and flicking the lid open. “Mm. Love that smell.” He reached in, pulled one out, and bit into it. After the second big bite he grinned at Nate, powdered sugar on his lips. “Come on, or I’ll leave you nothing but old-fashioned and maple-iced.”

“I kind of like maple-iced. And old-fashioned.” Nate went over and peered in the box to check out the jumbled selection.

“It’s like we’re made for each other,” Carlos rumbled in his ear.

Nate turned abruptly. They were inches apart. Carlos’s eyes were still blown wide and dark, but suddenly also uncertain. Nate ran a finger over Carlos’s full lower lip and licked it, defusing the moment. “Sugar. Mm.”

Carlos laughed and eased back. “Lots more where that came from.”

“And a good thing too.” Nate picked out a battered jelly donut and took a big bite.

Food like that needed coffee with it, so Nate made some, and they hung out, Nate in a chair, Carlos with one hip hitched on the table. Somehow, a dozen donuts disappeared in comfortable silence. There were things that needed to be said, but it was like neither of them wanted to break this feeling. Nate had sometimes resented someone pushing into his space, hanging around too close to him, but with Carlos, his personal bubble seemed to have vanished. He relished every random touch, every time their hands brushed grabbing for the same donut, every time Carlos’s swinging foot grazed against his thigh.

Eventually there was nothing but a mess of leaked jam and powdered sugar in the box. Carlos sighed. “I’m so full, I’m not even tempted to lick that.”

Nate wasn’t either, really, but he did it to make Carlos laugh. Carlos reached over and flicked a finger on Nate’s nose. “Raspberry jam.”

Nate swiped at it, sucked his finger, then got up and carried the box to the trash. When he turned, Carlos was still leaning on the table, but his arms were braced like he needed support. He eyed Nate without speaking.

Okay then.
“Want to go to bed?”

“Um. I guess.”

“I forgot. You said it makes you twitchy.”

“Well, sometimes. But yeah, I want to try.”

“You can have the bathroom first.”

Carlos nodded, slid off the table and headed for the john. Nate puttered, wiping the table, waiting. Carlos came out, still in boxers, clothes in hand, and went into the bedroom without speaking. Nate checked the cat’s water dish, turned out the kitchen light, and then took his own turn to clean up. He caught sight of himself in the mirror, looking just as used as Carlos had, hair wild, bite marks on his neck and throat. He touched one, wincing and yet turned on by the sting. Maybe it should have bothered him, that he liked Carlos marking him up, but he was going to take it as a sign he was learning to trust again. He slapped some cold water on his face, wiped the jam off his lip, and called it good.